


Back Woods

by minkmix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 16:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkmix/pseuds/minkmix
Summary: https://supernatural.fandom.com/wiki/Victor_HenriksenI just watched him ask if their daddy ever touched them. The boys stared kill to kill. <3He said... DONT YOU DARE SAY DEMONZ..... as he taps the gun. XD





	1. Back Woods

He supposed he should have been more elated than he was when they finally found it. After all they had been looking for this house for almost a week.

The place made Sam think of a yellowed old photograph left at the bottom of a drawer. The windows were like some long dead face standing too still and too posed for a camera. The doorways faded with their amber flaked edges. Left at the end of a winding weed choked dirt road, it hadn't looked as if it had been lived in for as long as the ivy grew up the sides of its paint chipped lopsided porch.

But looks were usually and frequently deceiving.

The sagging crumble of the barn was exactly where the century old document they had pilfered from the town hall's ledgers said it was. More importantly, the old boarded up well beside it was just visible among the thicket of raspberry bushes that had grown tall and wild around it. The sky was red and orange with twilight, slanting shadows down sharp and black through the trees.

The crickets went silent as they got closer, Dean motioning for Sam to wait as he slipped and vanished through the only way through the foliage. They weren't here to protect or destroy a thing this time around. They were here strictly as thieves. Sam would have felt badly if he thought for an instant that whoever owned this land, this aged house, this condemned barn or this forgotten well, would even know what they had. And if they even did know about the old bronze seal bolted onto their moldy stone well, would they even know what it was?

Dean reappeared much faster than Sam expected. He held up the small mossy square of metal with a grin. It was a seal of protection. The witches that used to live in these mountains used to leave them in places where children could find harm.

Lakes. Forests. Roads. Wells.

Sam smiled back at his brother, their eyes meeting in the relief of a duration of research and tedious work coming to a final fruition. They'd put this seal where it could do some real work, under a city intersection, a hospital basement, maybe even a--

They both heard the metallic slide and click of a rifle before they even saw the one who was holding it.

Without a word, they broke into different directions. Sam ducked and ran to his left, skirting the side of the barn and hearing the gun shots thudding and splintering into the peeling painted wood behind him. Rounding the far corner, he paused long enough to listen to the old man that had spotted them from his supposedly empty house. Old but a pretty good shot.

It was a simple thing to let the elderly man hobble in his direction as he worked his way back to the front of the barn. With one final glance around for any other unexpected armed recluses, Sam slipped down through the tangle of forest that paralleled the road they had followed in. Moving as fast as he could, he soon breathlessly burst out of the woods and onto weathered cracked pavement. Seconds later, Dean also stumbled out of the bushes, a distant figure down the curve of the road and almost right beside the far off parked car.

Sam jogged towards him, his smile coming back.

Dean made a vague wave at him before swinging the car door open and getting in.

It wasn't often they were shot at and chased by some 100 year old man who probably thought they were stealing off of his berry bushes. Sam reached the car, slumping back into his seat and sharing a look with Dean. They were both sweaty, scratched up from running through the underbrush and Sam had even ripped his jeans. A gash he hadn't noticed was bleeding and soaking the denim in a long thick spot down his knee.

He had to laugh. Tip his head back and just laugh.

Sam was still laughing breathlessly when he noticed Dean had never really joined him. He let his mirth go, deep from his belly and up to the ceiling of the car. "Can you believe that!"

Dean touched his own cheek where some low strip of branch had neatly sliced a thin line right under his eye. He started to laugh a little bit in disbelief too. Sam rubbed his hands across his face and waited for the tires to roll. But the engine hadn't even been turned yet.

"Oh man, can you believe that?" Sam repeated, ready to go and find the highway.

"Sam--"

"That guy was crazy." Sam breathed under another heave of laughter. "Like build a bunker for the zombies crazy. With provisions even."

"Sammy--"

Sam rolled his head with a smile on the back of the bench seat towards his brother. "What?"

Dean slowly pulled back his leather jacket with a trembling hand.

Sam went cold. He stared at the wide circle of crimson that shone wetly and dark through his brother's T-shirt, plastering it to his side.

"I- I think- I- "

"Dean."

"I- think-" He suddenly stopped and hitched a breath, his eyes squeezing shut.

With shaking hands, Sam pulled him down across the seats, resting his brother's head unsteadily in his lap as Dean started to wheeze.

"I think I- dropped the seal."

 

 

to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

The highway was almost forty-five minutes away.

The nearest town was a half an hour outside of that.

Sam yanked the steering wheel and tore down the next dirt path that he saw. Any sign of life up here meant it might have something at the end of it besides more winding mountain road. The car bumped and careened down the well worn tire furrows as he sunk his foot down on the pedal. Their speed met a sudden dip where rain run off had eroded the way into a smooth fall and rise that actually caught them a little air. The tires came back down hard onto the ground causing his brother to hiss and stir beside him as they bounced in their seats.

"T-take it easy." Dean murmured in a dazed far off annoyance. "The shocks man, just had them replaced..."

Sam tried his phone again. He waited for the terrible sound cue of the signal dropping before tossing it aside.

The road narrowed into nothing but weeds and Sam swallowed back the feeling of his heart thudding sickeningly in his chest. They were practically driving through the trees before they broke out suddenly into a clearing of over grown grass and then there, just a few yards away was a cabin. It was one of those types that looked just like a cabin ought to, lined dark treated logs of wood stacked and interlocked with a warped sun bleached shingled cedar roof.

Sam pressed his hand down hard on the horn as he swung his door oopen.

In several long hard strides he was at the door, his fist pounding on it several times before he called out. Without waiting for any response he shouldered it. It jerked and creaked open even though he had been half expecting it to be locked. No such thing up here in the hills. Anyone that would be all the way out here would have never have owned a set of house keys.

He walked right into fine net of spider webs spread out across the doorway. Distractedly brushing them away from his face, he quickly took in the single room of the dim dusty place. The empty gun rack and the small utility kitchen that sat to the side of stone fire place told him every thing he needed to know.

This was a hunting lodge. Likely for some deer enthusiasts way back down over state lines and towards the closest big city. Probably only used in winter and almost more than likely left with some supplies. He moved to the nearest cabinet and found a neat stack of soup cans. The next he swung open revealed a half empty box of shot gun shells. The one after that was devoid of anything but some sprung mouse traps.

Sam heard himself make a small sound at the back of his throat as he thought of driving back down the dirt road in the swift coming dark and the precious time it would take to get to anyone that could--

His eyes fell on the corner of the cabin by a stripped bed.

There was a red cross painted on a large free standing glass doored chest.

Not daring to hope he fell on his knees in front of it and jiggled the lid for a breathless moment before the latch gave way. Almost hitting himself in the chin flinging it open, he tried to focus by calmly removing its contents. Nodding to himself he stood back up and took a moment to run both hands through his hair and taking a moment for several deep breaths.

Bracing himself, he walked back out the door.

 

 

Dean was leaning almost completely on him even though he could tell his brother was trying not to.

Sam ignored Dean's natural tendency to keep him at length and used the arm he had hooked around Dean's waist to practically carry him up the few porch stairs. Faltering at the door, Sam slipped his hand into Dean's belt and hoisted him the remaining feet to the bare mattress of the bed.

Dean settled back on it with a small stifled sharp pained sound that made Sam clench his teeth.

"I'm gonna take a look at it okay?" Sam warned. There was something about doing anything to his older brother without his express permission that came through even now.

Dean responded by shutting his eyes. The skin of his face was too pale. The passenger side of the Impala's seat had been a little too soaked through than Sam had been prepared for when he had helped his brother out of the car.

Pushing Dean's leather to either side he carefully peeled back his soaked shirt up over his belly. The hard metallic scent of his blood wafted as strong and heavy as wood smoke, Dean's hands shaking over Sam's, forcibly checking himself to not stop Sam's tentative examination.

At first Sam couldn't tell anything from the bright red mess that was his brother's lower torso. Ignoring Dean's pained protests, he tugged and yanked the blood soaked jeans down as far as he could on Dean's hips. He heard himself breathe a sigh of relief when he saw the fresh bleed from the entrance wound. It was no where near Dean's stomach or his midsection. Dad had told them often enough how incredibly bad and dangerous belly wounds were. It looked like the bullet had made entry just right above Dean's hip.

"I'm going to roll you okay? I have to see if it went through."

Dean let his head fall back and nodded limply.

Sam tried to make it fast, but he wasn't sure if the speed made it worse or better. Dean's body shuddered in his hands, crying out harshly when he was tipped on his side. It had gone clear through. As gently as he could, he returned his brother to rest on his back.

He quickly wrapped the sterile gauze he had pulled out before hand from the first aid chest and pressed it down evenly and firmly over Dean's wounds.

"S'bad?" Dean asked while struggling to sit up to look.

"It's nothin'." Sam said as calmly as he could manage while using his other hand to push Dean back down by his chest. "You might even live to brag about it."

What did Dad always say? Sam shut his eyes and could almost see the old man lecturing them on what a marine did out in the field when a man was down. Pressure. Ice if you had it. A single bullet rarely intersected arteries but they could make for a lot of exciting bleeding and a hell of a lot of pain. Dad loved to tell them about that most of all.

If a hot bullet goes right through ya Sammy, it feels like you've been skewered with a hot iron and let somebody twist in there while they were at it.

Sam readjusted his hands, staring intently at the ticking hand of his watch for that magical 10 minute mark where if he were to ease off, his brother's body might have ebbed the flow of his blood for them. Next was to get his lower body above his heart. Sam glanced around for something he could get up underneath his brother's legs.

It would be fine.

He'd get Dean's wound stanched and then they would have the time they needed to make their way down the mountain pass. They'd find a doctor right away. Sam could see the tired annoyed face of the local doc woken at some ungodly hour of the morning. There would be some long hospital stay that would drive Dean crazy. He'd complain about the food and the stupid smocks that were open in the back.

"W'as that..." Dean was drowsy with blood loss but still trying to watch exactly what was going on.

Sam slid the needle out from under the alcohol soaked cotton ball on Dean's arm.

"Morphine."

"Shit." Dean slurred as it quickly flooded his system.

Sam watched the muscles of his brother's body finally begin to relax, his heaving chest start to slow its harsh rhythm. The passage and exit of the keen edge of his pain making Sam start to relax ever so slightly along with him.

"Sammy..." His eyes fluttered closed.

"I'm right here, try not to move."

Sam was wrapping the gauze down tightly over his hip. He had found some rolled up blankets stashed under the bed and was pushing them up under Dean's knees to elevate his legs for the time being.

"Hey.. hey Sammy..." Dean was fading in and out with the strong dose of pain killer.

"What?"

"If anyone ever-ever offers to shoot you." Dean whispered to him sagely, his head lolling back on the old stained mattress. "S-say no fucking thanks."

Because he couldn't help it, Sam laughed breathlessly out loud.

"I'll try to remember that."


	3. Chapter 3

The woods sure made a lot of really strange sounds at night.

Sam put another split log onto the fire and settled back into the surprisingly comfortable chair he had found. It was big enough for even his substantial frame to feel lost and tucked into its cracked leather. It was sturdy and heavy enough that it took more than a causal effort to drag it up to the old stone fireplace that dominated almost half the back wall of the place.

It got more than cold up in these mountains after dusk. Even in summer it got to be where you could see your breath by the lantern light. Whomever had built this lodge had known that, the hearth was well made, shaped to heat and not to decorate. A stack of nice and dry wood as high and wide as the cabin had been out back. Along with a hand pump well and an aluminum bucket.

He had had to refill that bucket three times, using all the gauze in the medical cabinet to wash away all the blood on his brother.

Somehow Dean slept through it all, even when Sam patiently and meticulously worked on his hands with the cloth. His hands had been the worst. Dean's thick silver ring had slipped off as he worked and Sam carefully pocketed it, wondering for the very first time where it had even come from. It was weird, the times you noticed and thought about things you should have seen and wondered everyday. When Dean was clean, he turned and worked on himself. His own stained shirt removed and replaced by something in his bag from the car. The skin underneath blotched and darkened as if he had been shot just the same. His own palms flaked with red brown. His boots and jeans specked with it.

The room was lit with the flickering orange crackle of the fire. The hiss and pop of the kindling was the only sound.

It made him think of every poem he'd read about the man that stares into the flames to find things there. Wisdom. Silence. Simple observation of the process of the life and death that starts off within the most base of elements. The need for them when we are stripped bare of all modern contrivances, and the reversion to becoming the people that used to know and worship those elements openly for what they were.

Like witches.

He felt himself smile at coming full circle as to what exactly had brought them up into this forest in the first place.

With one hand he checked the blankets he had laid down right at the base of the simmering wave of embers. Satisfied that they were almost about to burst into flames, he took them up and moved towards the bed he had pulled away from its corner and almost next to him.

Just stepping a few feet away from the face of the fire he could feel the night's chill quickly wrap around him. With the hot glow of the fire at his back, he felt the frigid cling to the air embrace him instead.

He touched the blankets that were over his brother's body and decided they had faded with everything but Dean's own scant body heat. Trying to do it quickly, he stripped the cooled covers off and swiftly replaced them with ones he had placed by the fire. Dean stirred when the blankets were pulled up and away, groaning a little at being disturbed in his hazy drugged sleep.

It was easier when Dean wasn't looking at him to place his hand on his brother's forehead. For some reason, even with all that had happened in the past few hours, it didn't occur to him until just after his hand settled there that they didn't touch very often. It seemed strange but he thought that maybe it was just simply the province of men. It was the women that taught you to reach. To hold. To soothe. He thought of how immediately easy that had seemed with Jess even though he had never really been taught how.

Dean's skin was warm to the touch, slightly clammy and damp. His breathing was even and regular however, and with a quick look, Sam saw his bandage hadn't even soaked through. It would be safe to move him soon without reopening his bullet wound. With a half smile, Sam considered that maybe touch wasn't a gift for women but just a gift for anyone willing to use it.

In a few hours it would be light and they'd make their way down the maze of country dirt roads and down back into the valley below. With luck, Dean would be under a stethoscope before the clock even saw noon.

It was funny in way. He had grown up not really believing in a thing like luck but he always seemed to look for it anyway. Another part of human nature maybe.

Sam stood up and stretched, catching sight of Dean's leather jacket he had removed earlier and left crumpled in the corner. His brother would never let him hear the freaking end of it if he somehow left it behind. Stained as it was it could always be cleaned up just like anything else.

He scooped it up, wondering if he should use what was left of the bucket of water to maybe--

With a jerk as it slipped, a small metal plaque fell from out its inner pocket and clattered with a thud onto the wooden planks of the floor.

The seal from the well.

Sam broke into a tired grin at the sight of it.

Maybe the nature of chance had nothing to do with chance at all.


End file.
